Hell. I had e’en as good tell it, as you guess it. Faith, Brother, my Business is the same with all living Creatures of my Age, to love, and be loved, and here’s the Man. Ped. Perfidious Maid, hast thou deceiv’d me too, deceiv’d thy self and Heaven? Hell. ’Tis time enough to make my Peace with that: Be you but kind, let me alone with Heaven. Ped. _Belvile_, I did not expect this false Play from you; was’t not enough you’d gain _Florinda_ (which I pardon’d) but your leud Friends too must be inrich’d with the Spoils of a noble Family? 103 Belv. Faith, Sir, I am as much surpriz’d at this as you can be: Yet, Sir, my Friends are Gentlemen, and ought to be esteem’d for their Misfortunes, since they have the Glory to suffer with the best of Men and Kings; ’tis true, he’s a Rover of Fortune, yet a Prince aboard his little wooden World. Ped. What’s this to the maintenance of a Woman or her Birth and Quality? Will. Faith, Sir, I can boast of nothing but a Sword which does me Right where-e’er I come, and has defended a worse Cause than a Woman’s: and since I lov’d her before I either knew her Birth or Name, I must pursue my Resolution, and marry her. Ped. And is all your holy Intent of becoming a Nun debauch’d into a Desire of Man? Hell. Why—I have consider’d the matter, Brother, and find the Three hundred thousand Crowns my Uncle left me (and you cannot keep from me) will be better laid out in Love than in Religion, and turn to as good an Account—let most Voices carry it, for Heaven or the Captain? All cry, a Captain, a Captain. Hell. Look ye, Sir,’tis a clear Case. Ped. Oh I am mad—if I refuse, my Life’s in Danger— [Aside.] —Come—There’s one motive induces me—take her—I shall now be free from the fear of her Honour; guard it you now, if you can, I have been a Slave to’t long enough. [Gives her to him. Will. Faith, Sir, I am of a Nation, that are of opinion a Woman’s Honour is not worth guarding when she has a mind to part with it. Hell. Well said, Captain. Ped. This was your Plot, Mistress, but I hope you have married one that will revenge my Quarrel to you— [To _Valeria_. Val. There’s no altering Destiny, Sir. 104 Ped. Sooner than a Woman’s Will, therefore I forgive you all—and wish you may get my Father’s Pardon as easily; which I fear. Enter _Blunt_ drest in a _Spanish_ Habit, looking very ridiculously; his Man adjusting his Band. Man. ’Tis very well, Sir. Blunt. Well, Sir, ’dsheartlikins I tell you ’tis damnable ill, Sir—a Spanish Habit, good Lord! cou’d the Devil and my Taylor devise no other Punishment for me, but the Mode of a Nation I abominate? Belv. What’s the matter, _Ned?_ Blunt. Pray view me round, and judge— [Turns round. Belv. I must confess thou art a kind of an odd Figure.